


Force Majeure

by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:20:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23088457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/pseuds/letmetellyouaboutmyfeels
Summary: It's Christmas Eve, and Flynn's annoying next-door-neighbor just got his flight cancelled.
Relationships: Garcia Flynn/Wyatt Logan
Comments: 6
Kudos: 25





	Force Majeure

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/180465033263/captainofthefallen-sent-me-this-in-a-message-and

Flynn peered out the window as his next door neighbor got out of his car, bitching.

Wyatt Logan getting out of his car and bitching was not out of the ordinary. What was out of the ordinary was that Flynn knew, for a fact, that Wyatt was supposed to be catching a Christmas Eve flight to spend the holiday in Texas with his ex-wife and her folks.

Through a series of complicated events that Flynn knew about because the Venn Diagram between the health of Wyatt’s relationship with Jessica Logan and Wyatt’s relationship with Flynn was a circle, Wyatt and Jess had a) moved here to start new b) failed to start new c) woke Flynn up with repeated loud arguments d) separated e) got divorced f) went to counseling and g) patched up their friendship ending with h) becoming platonic besties.

No, Flynn didn’t understand it either.

Having circled around to being happy to see each other again now that they were fucking other people, or at least no longer fucking or trying to fuck each other, Jess had asked for Wyatt to go and stay with her and her family in their hometown for the holidays. Apparently Wyatt had no family of his own, or shit family, or some combination, Flynn wasn’t sure, and Jess’s parents loved Wyatt. No longer being married to their daughter didn’t matter to them, which if you asked Flynn was pretty admirable.

But for some reason or another (he suspected Wyatt’s job), Wyatt could only get out on Christmas Eve, which was today.

And now Wyatt was back.

Flynn frowned. He and Wyatt were… um. Something. When he’d seen the guy he’d thought _wow, I’d like to see you on your knees_ and that had not been the type of thing he wanted to think at all about someone who was married, even if that marriage was an unhappy and crumbling one. Not to mention that after Lorena had passed, he hadn’t really looked at anyone. Not just because he was mourning her. He just… hadn’t.

And so maybe his stupid and inappropriate crush on Wyatt had led him to be a bit more cranky than usual. And maybe Wyatt’s unhappiness in his marriage and the resulting fallout had led to him being cranky back.

The point was, Flynn still wanted to fuck the guy. He just wanted to do it on the row of geraniums Wyatt had passive aggressively planted on their shared property line after learning that Flynn hated bright reds and pinks.

But it was Christmas Eve, and Flynn himself was settling in for a lonely couple of nights. And Wyatt didn’t sound pissed, or at least not just pissed, as he made his way up his snowy front walk. He sounded sad, desperate, tired.

Flynn could understand that.

Before he knew what he was doing or was able to stop and think about what a bad idea this was, he opened his front door and called out, “Wyatt.”

Wyatt turned and squinted at him. “What, did I not park right for you or something?”

Flynn bit back his retort. “Your flight was cancelled.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

Goddammit. “Look, it’s Christmas Eve.”

“I noticed.”

“So get over here.”

Wyatt stared at him, unblinking. “What?”

“Look, I know we hate each other, but it’s Christmas Eve. So please just come inside.”

Wyatt still looked bemused but shuffled over the dividing fence and then walked through the snow to Flynn at the front door. “Did you knock your head or something?”

“Contrary to popular belief, Wyatt, I don’t want to see you die in a fiery explosion when your ridiculous grill-lighting habits finally catch up with you and you set off the entire thing of gas. I’m alone and miserable, you’re alone and miserable, they say misery loves company, so get your ass inside and get stupidly drunk and we’ll watch _Die Hard_ or something.”

“…that actually sounds like a really good idea.”

“I’m full of good ideas, you just never listen.”

“You’re full of something, all right,” Wyatt muttered, but he let Flynn guide him into the house.

It was awkward at first, to say the least. Wyatt had never been inside Flynn’s house before, or vice versa, and Flynn was surprised that he didn’t feel invaded as Wyatt walked around, looking at the pictures of Lorena and Iris that Flynn could stand to keep up, touching the books on the shelves, and so on.

Once he put the movie on and got Wyatt some eggnog and put the food in the oven, though, things started to loosen up.

“You actually made a whole meal?” Wyatt asked. “Even though it’s just you?”

“Smaller portions, obviously, but yeah.” Flynn shrugged. “Habit. I was the cook in the family.”

Wyatt paused, swirling his eggnog around. “I’m sorry about them, Flynn. Really I am.”

“I’m sorry about your flight.”

Wyatt gave him a small, tentative smile. “This ain’t too bad.”

“Ain’t? Is that the Texan coming out at you?”

“Hold on, I’ll have a good quip about your accent, just give me a minute.”

Flynn laughed, surprising himself. An explosion went off on the television and Wyatt looked over, grinning. “Man, I had such a crush on Bruce Willis as a kid.”

Flynn just about choked on his eggnog. Wyatt glanced over at him. “Sorry,” Flynn coughed out. “I just—I thought you were straight?”

“Is it gonna be a problem that I’m not?”

“No, no, uh… me neither.” Flynn shrugged, trying to sound casual about it. “Never really put a label on it but my first serious relationship was with a guy. Then a couple of years after him I met Lorena.”

“Jess got me to admit it in one of our counseling sessions. She’s the only one who knows. I’m trying to… to be more comfortable with it, y’know? I liked girls, so it was easy to stick with girls, but it still feels like shit when I don’t mention the guys.”

“I get that.” Flynn paused. “Thank you for trusting me enough to mention it.”

“Consider it my way of saying thanks for not calling the cops on us after a few of those arguments.”

Things got even more relaxed after that—but Flynn was inwardly panicking.

Wyatt was bi. Wyatt liked men. Wyatt who had pretty blue eyes and soft hair and was just short enough that Flynn could probably fuck him against the wall if he wanted. Wyatt who was sitting just a foot away on Flynn’s couch.

He stood up. “I’ll check on the food.”

They ate on the couch too, because they were lazy and nobody was there to judge them, and somehow in the process Wyatt ended up right next to him, their legs pressed together, the movie forgotten as they swapped war stories (the good ones, the funny ones, skirting around the real mess of it, the darkness of it, the parts that tugged at the deepest, most jagged parts of them).

“Hey, Flynn?” Wyatt said softly as the credits rolled.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.” Wyatt’s smile was one he’d never seen before, slow and lazy. It made Flynn’s heart do dangerous flips. “Last couple of these’ve been shit, honest, with me and Jess on the outs. This was the best I’ve had in a while.” He then paused. “Also can I tell you something?”

“Sure.”

“I’m not entirely sober,” Wyatt admitted.

Flynn laughed. “Neither am I.” He wasn’t drunk, just barely tipsy, a slight buzz in his blood.

“Man, if you’d asked me if this was where I’d end up Christmas Eve, I would’ve told you to go fuck yourself,” Wyatt laughed. He leaned back against Flynn’s shoulder and Flynn froze.

“Yeah, well, you kind of made it clear we weren’t friends.”

“You started it.”

“Fair enough.”

Wyatt looked up at him through lowered lashes. Fuck. Flynn’s heart was racing. “I think that you think that I hate you. And I think I’ve been shit at showing you that I don’t because you are really, really prickly. I don’t know if you know.”

“I’ve been told that before.” Flynn’s arm was getting numb so he pulled it out from under Wyatt, putting on the back of the couch instead—almost but not quite around Wyatt’s shoulders.

What. It was just practical.

“But I really, really…” Wyatt’s gaze flicked down to Flynn’s mouth and then back up again. “…don’t hate you.”

Flynn felt like he couldn’t breathe. They were incredibly close, he could feel Wyatt’s breath on his neck, and Wyatt was practically in his arms and fuck, he wanted…

Wyatt swallowed, and then pushed up, just enough, his mouth gently brushing against Flynn’s.

Fuck it. It was Christmas, that was what all the movies said, right?

Flynn cupped Wyatt’s jaw in his hand, his fingers splayed out, tangled in Wyatt’s hair, and he kissed him properly, his tongue darting out to tease at the seam of Wyatt’s mouth, causing Wyatt to make a small noise in the back of his throat and push up, pulling Flynn’s tongue into his mouth, sucking on it, practically crawling into Flynn’s lap.

His weight settled against him and Flynn lost his mind just a little bit. “Hey,” he panted, pulling away but running his hands over Wyatt, getting a feel for him, Wyatt already shaking like he was about to spill over the edge. “I never showed you the upstairs, did I?”

A sly, shit eating smile came over Wyatt’s face. “No, no I don’t think you did.”

Flynn grinned back, then proceeded to show him the bedroom. And the bathroom. And then the bedroom again.

Merry Christmas indeed.


End file.
